


A beast not slain

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Abuse, Angst With A Happy End, F/M, GR: General Grumman, GR: Roy Mustang, Hurt/Comfort, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, OC: Ethan Herman, Torture, character death (not main!), shady goverment actions, tell me if I forgot something!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: Our past shapes who we are, how we go about doing things, sometimes even how we think. But it can be changed of course, growth always possible. Olivier had thought she'd managed just that, that she'd learned to live with the more horrible parts of it, had found herself again. This conviction tested though, by new hands burrowing deeply in old wounds.





	1. The head reared like a beast

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> This one will be a multi-chap, about five chapters long. The plot is planned, much is already written out, though I'll have to see if I can get a weekly or bi-weekly update-rhythym going. This ones a bit harder in subject matter, the third painting you a good picture about what's going down, so if that's too much for you, or opens up old wounds, stay safe.  
> If you want a trigger warning added, just hit me up.
> 
> And now: I hope you enjoy :D

_“Up on your underarms and stay like that!”_

_They heeded his command of course, all five of them. Their muscles strained, the mud below them making it hard to hold stance, the rain from above making it hard to concentrate. Saw arms shake with the effort, all of these soldiers now up for more than twenty-four hours. Watched, walking past them slowly, as their boots slid through the mud, their bodies stretched and muscles taunt._

_It did not take long for the first three to collapse, his scoff easily heard through the drumming of the raindrops._

_The guy, Mike or Mitch or something, he was forgettable enough as it was, looked to the side, desperately wanted to be the one who held out the longest. The blonde next to him not doing him that favour, stubborn as always._

_Her arms shook with the effort, with sheer exhaustion properly too. He had her down on food and water, had tested her thoroughly. Was impressed, had stated such to his superiors. The girl, and she really wasn’t anything more, had gal, talent and the looks you needed to pull of the jobs his pupils got._

_The man next to her falling face-first into the mud, pulled out, and send inside with the other four._

_A bad batch in his opinion, all of them talking big, but nothing to show for that. He’d treated them not nearly as harshly as her, had his doubts that they’d have survived that, yet they dared to fall behind. She instead had almost impressed him from day one, the meek little thing, barely sixteen, putting up quite a fight._

_She’d been beat up of course, knew little to nothing about hand to hand combat, except the few moves you learned at the six-week basic-training. But she’d trained to exhaustion, pushed her boundaries before he even had a chance to try that. And soon the men had lain on their backs in the training hall._

_He’d told Central to send him more women. They made for better assassins, were not as easily spotted as the big and burly guys the Generals were so fond of. Women could weasel into all kinds of spaces, even those that were usually men-only, if as cleaners or prostitutes. Men though, stuck out like a sore thumb in kitchens and bathrooms, could never walk up to a sleeping target, crossing hallways dressed up as a maid. They maybe needed less weapons-training, but lacked in many other parts._

_But when he’d first given this one a weapon, a small knife, her potential to be death became apparent._

_Few stood a chance, less with each week that passed. She started to get the hang of hand to hand, he taught her how to sneak up on someone, how to slowly come up from behind a person, one hand ready to press on their mouths, knife in the other, ready to severe the carotid artery._

_She’d done exceptional and he’d set his eyes on making her his masterpiece._

_But then she had to deny him. He’d ordered her to pack up yesterday, to get up and leave, to go back to her family. And instead of doing that, heeding his orders, she’d disobeyed. Had sat at supper, stubborn as always. Her eyes gloomy when he looked at her, but proud._

_He chided himself for not getting rid of her pride._

_Was so oblivious, probably thinking that she was showing him what a good little soldier she was, still on her underarms in the mud. The rain having soaked her through, sinewy and thin as she was. Not aware that she’d broken his rules, had disobeyed him._

_Was useless._

_When he put his boot on her back, she did not flinch. Pushed back, held herself upright, was used to such tests from him. And he gradually pushed harder, saw the mud slide away from her in small waves, rippling almost like water when you threw a stone into it. Was alone with her, out in the courtyard, the rain still falling heavily, the sun long gone._

_And when he pushed harder still, her arms finally gave out._

_Watched as she landed face-first in the mud, felt her struggle against his boot, only taking it away when she stopped to._

_Stood back, let his eyes sweep over the windows of the barracks, noticing no watching eyes._

_Thought to himself what a shame it was, though she certainly wasn’t the first. But no one had use for a disobedient soldier and she knew too much, had already learned too much, to go back. Would maybe talk, which did not fly with him at all. Would maybe turn on him, which flew with him even less. Would maybe be claimed by another, which he could not let happen._

_Looked at her for many minutes, the small girl in the mud, hair wet and not recognisable as blond._

_She could’ve been his masterpiece, death incarnate, yet she seemed to just have been another well-breed brat. Had disobeyed him, after everything he’d taught her, her death one that Central would cover up, like they’d done all the others. He brought them soldiers after all, assassins, the best there were, however few._

_Mumbled to himself, the irony never escaping him, that she’d taken his order for her to die without complaint._

_Turned around, ready to march inside, to get warmed up, when he heard the sound of a boot being pulled out of muck. Chalked this up to his imagination first, until a squelching followed, having him whip around._

_Silently watched her rise to her underarms again, features not recognizable under the brown mass clinging to her face. Heard her cough, saw when she spat out some of the mud, not believing what he saw for many moments._

_The girl, still scrawny, having hoisted herself into position again, muscles already shaking._

_Felt anger rise upon witnessing that she’d disobeyed his second command in the span of twenty-four hours, but knew better. Shouted at her to stand up, to salute. Which she did, without hesitation._

_Ordered her to get inside, five minutes of cold water her treat for holding out the longest._

_Wondering if she was even aware that he’d not tested her, but had tried to take her life. His knees almost buckling when she thanked him, went to the shower building, looking like a dedicated gust of wind could take her away._

_She’d be his masterpiece._

* * *

“Have you caught up on the news yet?”

Miles shaking his head, ponytail whipping about, shrugging.

“I’m a bit behind on the newspapers, though my adjutant would surely alert me if something about Ishval was published, Sir.”

Mustang nodding at that, looking like he was biting his tongue off inside of his mouth. Was acting weirdly for a while now, though Miles chalked it up to the impending move back to Central for the man and his team.

The restoration effort in Ishval was not nearly close to done, would remain like that for the next twenty years probably, but the Brigadier General walking next to him had helped to get it started. Was needed elsewhere now, a presidential election planned for next year, Mustang still steadfast in his desire to become president-elect.

Miles new that it was not only because of his desire to unify Amestris, to build a peaceful nation from the warmongering country it had been before, but that he wished to be tried for his crimes still, committed on these very grounds. Had talked a lot with the other Ishvalans about it, after the sun had set and the amestrian’s gone to their tents. Discussion about it plenty, as well as opinions on the matter, though all with one thing clear: Involvement was desired.

It had been Scar, the one called unchosen by a few and peacekeeper by many, that had stepped up to the General one day, after his transfer back to Central was finalized and became public knowledge. He’d been in the Brigadier Generals tent to talk through several plans, not asked by his Ishvalan brother to leave, but instead to be witness to the words said.

_“We want to be more than a testimony to your cruelty; do you understand that?”_

This sentence the one he remembered the best, having stood out to him the most. The discussion of the two civil, calm and collected, utterly factual. Scar was adamant that all those tried for their crimes during the Ishvalan genocide were not only to be tried by their peers, but by those whom they’d tried to annihilate too. That the Ishvalan people should not be excluded when this was a matter of great interest to them. And Mustang had been welcoming of that request, had promised the man that he’d do his best to ensure that as many of his people as possible were included in the process.

It had struck Miles, though it was also the day his workload seemingly doubled.

With Mustang going back to Central, he’d become the main-liaison for anything related to Ishval. Had already been warned that, depending on how the government-body would change, he’d maybe have to give up his position in the military. That the work was plenty, demanding him to travel fairly often. That he’d not only have to coordinate the interests of the Ishvalans, but also those of Central, their benefactors and those of the people sceptical of their efforts.

The General coughing next to him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“What’s keeping your mind in its grip, Lieutenant Colonel? A certain, oh my, I can’t believe I’m calling the demon this, Lady?”

Felt like blushing, embarrassed at being caught inattentive, even if it had not been because of her.

“No Sir, I was thinking about my expanding duties. And I’d advise you, respectfully of course, not to call her that when she arrives.”

The other snorting.

“A demon?”

“A lady, Sir.”

Mustang letting out a laugh, too easy, too quickly, seeming fake to him. Was aware that the man was putting up a façade in front of him for quite some time now, hid something from him.

“Glad to hear that she’s still the same then! Wanted to call her hells overlord, after she made the peacekeeper basically rise from the dead, but she’d said something about not angering people you have to work with later!”

Chuckled a little, the words sounding like something she would say, though the next from Mustang were not unexpected.

“She’s coming tomorrow?”

The excitement he felt at that hard to contain, even though it was a constant companion for a long time now. Her visit was planned for more than half a year now, three weeks spent in this outpost. Could hardly put into words how ecstatic he was because of this, and simply didn’t, instead opting for playing it cool.

“Yes Sir!”

Expected another snort from the Colonel, a laugh, instead getting a frown. The look of a man that tried his hardest to not say something aloud. The flared nostrils and the deep breaths of a man, forming and telling him a lie. Or at the very least, leaving a part of the truth out.

“You think she’ll relax, or will she busy herself with our work again?”

Wanted to ask about what was seemingly hidden from him, though only humour found its way. Vowed himself to ask her directly, set to talk with her anyways, the topics they’d decided on half a year ago heavy and important.

“Knowing her Sir, I’d say we can redirect some of the workers from the building-site in the east-district, because she’ll take over.”

Smiled at that, only a little, but with honesty.

This was his fourth year in Ishval, he’d not leave anytime soon. And that much had been clear to him and her the last time she was here. They’d talked about it, both not playing with their cards open, instead holding them close to their hearts. Agreeing that the next time, this time, they’d come clean and see where things went from there.

Mustang chuckled, coming to a halt next to the flap of his bureau-tent.

“Well then Lieutenant Colonel, I’ve got a lot of work Major Hawkeye will be keen on forcing me to do, and I bet you do too.”

The quip escaping him, though only eliciting a laugh from Mustang.

“She does not have to force me, Sir.”

The man looking like he wanted to say something, but then stepping inside his makeshift-bureau, raising his hand in greeting. Miles left not a moment after, an important meeting with the elders planned at the house of prayer.

Walking there, smiling, thinking about all the things he wanted to tell her when she was finally here.

* * *

Central was as full as always.

She’d arrived a few days before her train to Ishval would take off, vacation only starting then. Had made her way through the masses of people, suitcase carried with ease, sabre at her hip and silently commanding people to make room. Had settled into a hotel and endured meeting after meeting in all of its boredom.

Thought about how bad timing could be, her family currently on vacation in Creta. She’d almost mourned it, knew that her days would’ve been broken up by her families usually overbearing but hilarious demeanour. And so instead she suffered, silent for the most part, as many of her fellow Generals were seemingly only interested in advocating in favour of their dick being the biggest.

Listened to the preparations that were made for the presidential elections, heard some mutter that their power would diminish, others talking about their plans to leave the military, to join the new government if possible.

It hinged on their ranks she noted, those almost as high as they could go not willing to give up their cushy station, while those of lower ranks, a joke in and on itself admits the masses of Generals in this room, searched for a new way to attain fame. Amestris would not go to war if it could be helped, at least not in the near future. Once you were a Brigadier, a promotion would be hard to get.

Daydreamed herself to Ishval instead of listening, the land that had taken a hold of her and was unwilling to let go.

She’d associated sand with it of course, had readied herself for a monotone experience in landscape upon her first visit, ready to take comfort in the simplicity of it all. And though it had indeed been an exclusively sandy expanse the first few days of her travel, on horseback then, she’d soon been attacked by a slew of colours. Oasis after oasis turned the land into a lush paradise in places, formations of rock and sediment into something awe-inspiring to behold. The fauna was not plenty, but diverse and she’d seen, and for the first time in many years drawn too, a plethora of animals, one more fascinating than the other.

The heat had been almost unbearable at first, but it was a dry kind of heat at last, one she’d learned to life with. Hadn’t been born for the cold in the first months of her posting up north either, but had adapted anyways. So, she gave herself some time, acquired quite a sunburn, peeled and felt oddly fresh afterwards. Like she’d shed a shell, or at least a part of it.

The people always were very welcoming, she helped and worked wherever she could, picked up on the language fast. Had always been good with those, knew plenty and spoke some of them pretty well too. Let the culture all around her, so different from her own, draw her in. Had been invited to a few weddings over the years, these shindigs so much better celebrated by the Ishvalans in her opinion. She’d danced upon the sand, a first after many years, had let herself be dressed up.

Had finally started to find herself again, experienced anew what she liked and what not. Grew fond of the hairless dogs zipping around between the houses, slept in for the first time since she’d turned sixteen. Let herself go, nothing more on her mind than the next day. Miles too, at first only sometimes, then only sometimes not.

To say they weren’t close would be a lie.

After their first year, or maybe two at the Wall, they’d grown onto the other, had learned the others’ expressions and body language. In dire situations they worked together wordlessly, without stumbles or mistakes. It was then that they’d started to become friends.

The war in the east had come to a stop, Miles had made up his mind, had not asked her to duel. Instead had channelled all his energy into keeping Amestris safe from the, at the time, unrelentingly attacking Drachmans. Back then it must’ve been that she’d felt the first pull towards him, when they’d hidden in a cave, from a storm and their enemy alike.

_“I’ve never seen men, so loyal to their leader.”_

_“Says you, sitting here with me in the most dangerous situation one could be in, probably having no idea why?”_

He’d laughed at her answer, an honest question back then, not demeaning, but with true mirth.

Had not been convinced by the little flip of her stomach, his unshielded eyes prompting to turn her cheeks just as red as his irises. She’d been trained not too feel, to be as ruthless as possible, without mercy. She’d though herself to be unexploitable, emotionally stunted, but in the way needed to do what she’d done. What she still did.

But over the span of a decade, over lives lost and new friends found, a government toppled and a thousand miles of distance, he’d convinced her otherwise.

Not all shreds had been eradicated, her emotions not as lost as her old trainer had claimed, but only locked away very securely. And Miles had pried that lock open, first only pulling out her laughter and giving it back to her, later companionship and hope. Transformed her, gave her back what she didn’t even knew to be missing since that day in the mud.

Still utilized her skills, her mask, but gave them to those younger than her.

She taught her recruits how to kill silently, how to make people believe what they wanted them to believe. How to infiltrate, how to act and when to reveal the truth. And when she set foot into Ishval, her mind so full again after years and years of unlocking her own gates, this silent emptiness gone, he’d smiled at her.

It had hit her then, the truth she’d been unable to accept, probably even to understand.

Had been tentative, herself, not able and not willing to be somebody else. Not after having fought for so long to regain it. Yet, she’d allowed herself to grow closer to him, not only as friends now. Understood that these emotions she was now feeling, big and scary and wonderful, had been inside of him longer. Noticed the way his movements shifted, his words changed, when they were alone.

Did the same, though both of them fearing to brave the point of no return. Waiting until they were sure that they’d never end up under the same chain of command again, their newfound closeness forbidden.

They settled on talking, on longing gazes and unsaid plans.

She learned his truth, heard the stories of his childhood, seeing so many places differently afterwards. And in turn she told him the few things he did not already know, what she’d done those first few years in the military, the official records blacked.

They’d talked of fears, of emptiness and hope.

And then she heard that the government would shift, a year before most others. The plans to turn him liaison. They’d talked about that too, though only over the radio, deeming letters too unsafe for such sensitive topics. Planned when she could come down, deciding on summer, the border always calm then. Was giddy almost, though only few caught onto that, her mask too perfect.

Her stomach doing another kind of flip when she was taken to the side after another boring meeting, by Fuhrer Grumman.

Stepped into his bureau, uneasiness writhing about inside of her, the stacks of newspapers the first thing catching her eye. Had not read a lot while in Central, though suspected that some bullshit-rumours were making the rounds again, judging by the looks she sometimes received.

Heard the name Maximoff, alleged murder, trial, and stiffened on the inside.

Froze, memories rushing back. Of muscles burning and constant hunger, of her head hitting the gym-mat again and again. Felt the cold and slick feeling of mud creep up her fingers, felt like her boots were slipping on wetness, though she knew beneath her was only carpet. Remembered the emptiness that came with a kill and the exact moment when it turned constant companion.

Her mask settling on her face quickly, words and facts exchanged almost just as rapidly.

The new government slowly but surely was getting rid of Bradley’s remnants, the program she’d been trained in apparently one of those. It had consisted of a small team, Captain Maximoff at the head of it and the one making the decisions too. He’d been tasked with training assassins for the state, soldiers with vast killing-capabilities. Only four he’d released, claiming their training completed, she being one of those. Others had been pulled from the man beforehand, for many reasons, a lot left after the first few days of training, not held back or court martialled for it.

Some never left and never completed the training, no trace to be found.

And now, with the government searching for people to make a case against the retired man, someone from her first few months of training had come forth. Had testified that he’d been witness to an attempted murder, cruelty and a wide range of other accusations against the man that had trained them.

She not even aware that such a trial was underway, wondering why and asking aloud.

“To keep you from just killing the man, of course.”

The words coming easily from Grumman, like one would order a beer, or something to eat.

Had rung true of course, the thought having crossed her mind often, though less and less in more recent years. Was sure that the other three had not been told either, the fear of the man being killed before he could be tried grounded in reality. Though they’d never moved in for the kill, all of them knowing one another, hoping for something like a trial to happen.

For him to pay for what he’d done.

And it hit her that everything would probably be brought to the table. The things that’ve been done to them, the thought alone of hearing Maximoff’s voice once more making her mind reel. She’d lived through it all once, had no need for a twice. Had finally started to regain a full range of emotions and feared losing the positive ones again. Knew that she needed them for her future, for Miles.

That she could not let him be the one that did all the loving, that a relationship demanded such to be given from them both.

Saw in Grumman’s eyes that he knew what she wanted to do now, and that she could not without putting herself, her hopes and dreams, into danger.

Boarded the train bound for Ishval a day later, her initial giddiness buried under memories that were decades old.

 


	2. The past looks from afar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dears :D
> 
> In this one is the prompt "I think you're just afraid to be happy!" hidden, so I hope you'll catch it :D Also, as for during the week somethings planned and I'm drowning in work, we'll go with bi-weekly from here on out. I'm sorry, but it's good for the quality, so ;)
> 
> Have fun and tell me what you think :D

General Payens eyes spoke only of resolve when he ordered her to go out and kill.

It had occurred to her that he maybe did not know what she'd done before having been placed under his command, or that he knew too much, but it was of no matter for her anyways. Her comrades, hating her or not, were in mortal danger. The enemy was catching up to them, they had no means to defend themselves and the hut they huddled in was in an open field, only snow around.

Cursed that Payen took her seriously, when she said that she could get them out of there.

Had become reliant on her in large parts, as she was his adjutant for a year now. Had liked the change of work, the change of pace, but could at no point deny what she was. The man had seen that of course, was observant, saw past gender roles and expectations. Had, one late afternoon spent slaving away over paperwork, asked her how training under Maximoff had been. That he'd been a recruit together with him, that he thought of the guy as a pig.

She had not let her mask fall, telling him that she'd learned a lot.

His gaze then maybe pitying, or scared, she could not remember. There were only few that truly knew what she was trained to be, what she truly was behind her mask. All of them scared witless by it.

And when she said she could, he ordered her to do it.

The men at ground level had looked weird when she’d donned the white armour, plaited her hair to her head tightly and put on snow-blindness-googles. Pulled the hood and faceguard over her head, hid small knifes in her belt. One of them called the way she did it inaccessible, she told him calmly that she put them like that, so they wouldn’t glint in the light and alert their enemies to her presence. He'd taken a step back then, the others finally noticing that she was the only one getting ready, would go alone.

Later she learned that some had contested that with the General, but she'd already been out.

Mind empty, set on her goal, she trudged through snow. Saw the glint of a sniper trained on her, knew that the outposts were watching, that she had an audience. Filing that under information not needed for the kill. When nearing the hut turned on full stealth-mode and noticed that the snipers lost her.

A few years ago maybe would've felt satisfaction at that, but now only nothing.

Maximoff had gotten rid of happiness, humour and kindness, had left her with the only things she needed to effectively kill: hate, rage, anger and indifference. Had taught her that every kill granted to her was done for her own good, was a testament to her abilities. That nobody would get that besides him, that she shouldn’t even try to get others to understand. That she was best-off doing what she did and accepting what she was.

As such, she creeped silently through the snow, breathing evenly, deeply, not thinking when her hand clasped over a Drachman throat, her small dagger finding its sheath. In the distance saw one of the Lieutenants, the big one, Buccaneer, ready to fight. Knew that she had to make haste, or they'd be shot at still.

The men before her falling under her blade, the cold not bothering her, nor the silent prayers their bodies wordlessly uttered when straining against her grip.

And when the last Drachman fell, not having noticed his comrades being killed by her before her blade sunk into his neck, Buccaneer and the others finally saw her. Wondered if it maybe seemed like a magic trick, never having seen the reveal herself, like she just suddenly _was_ out of thin air.

Saw the horrified faces behind Buccaneer, though the Lieutenant, the one that she often thought despised her the most, looked with something akin to awe at her. Squinted a little, looking into her eyes, made out their shape through the darkness of the googles, and seemingly recognizing her from just that.

"Armstrong?! Shit, I didn't know that you could handle such a small knife that well!"

Laughed gruffly afterwards, sending a surge of bewilderment through her.

People were only scared when they noticed what she could do, that she could pop-up behind them at any time, bringing death upon them. Never had someone laughed like that, or been impressed, or even just praised her for what she was made to do. Stunned into silence, she walked with them back to the Wall.

The emptiness after a kill not overwhelming her like it usually did, the grim resolve and knowledge that she was just that, a blade to the mighty. Was still feeling empty of course, felt no satisfaction, or glee, or despair, but still _something_. The men around her talking amongst themselves, the others when they reached the Wall greeting them, cheering.

Word had apparently gotten around already, the General at ground level with many others, waiting for them. Ignored the gazes on her when she loosened the headgear, pulled it back, aware that she was a strange sight with plaited hair and googles on. Stayed like that though, knew that she had to wait and watched their new Doc walk between the troop that had come back with her, picking out those wounded enough to deserve immediate attention.

Walked past her, them all, caught up to at the changing room by Buccaneer, a hand to her shoulder.

"You saved our fucking lives out there, and we... I..."

Shrugged his hands away, though turned to look at him. Was unfamiliar with the feelings coiling in her belly and mind at the moment, the absence of the emptiness strange, but not unwelcome.

Refrained from saying something, never having been willing to force her words onto someone else. Wanted him to figure things out on his own instead.

"We treated you like shit, honestly! And I'm sorry for that!"

Words suddenly climbing up, something she'd not had when concerning another person’s emotions and thoughts since before Maximoff.

"Since you know that I can kill you without making a sound?"

The other laughing again, gruffly, though she did not understand what was so funny.

" _Please_ , since I know that you're willing to risk your life for us!"

The man refraining from clapping her on the back when catching her look, though not backing away from talking while they both changed. They only had one changing room in the whole Fort that was designated for only women and she was unwilling to climb up fifteen flights of stairs in the camouflage gear.

"That's what you did before coming here?"

Threw him an inquiring look when emerging from the white thermo-shirt. Got a stabbing motion as an answer, followed by something that looked like he sliced his own throat. Maximoff’s words floating through her head for a second, the mental image of standing close to the other girl, watching the blood run from her eyes.

_"Your secrets are not yours to share! See what happens to those that talk!"_

Shook her head to clear her mind, debating the old memories for a long moment. Looking at Buccaneer then, who was inspecting a wound on his right arm. Made eye-contact when he was done, in time to catch her nod.

"I was part of the special forces."

The other made a sound of understanding.

"Classified, get it, no worries. But still good that you got us out, thanks again."

Both changing the rest of their clothes now, gazes averted for the time being, the locker room situation only enjoyed by the few pervs at the Wall. Buccaneer speaking again when they emerged from the room, on their way to the usual after-mission check-up.

"Those things you did out there, think you can teach us some of it?"

Something screaming in her head, telling her of the rule concerning secrets. Silenced these thoughts, shrugged.

"Guess so."

Hadn't known that Buccaneer could beam like that.

* * *

Scar fetched him when he heard her screams.

The Peacekeeper was the one living the closest to the quarters visitors were assigned to. Told him what he'd heard, how he'd checked for intruders, making sure that it was really only a nightmare. How he'd remembered his words from long ago, to not just go in, or wake her by banging on the door, but rather to get him. That it sounded like a dream you should not dream until the end.

Miles had been pulled out of deep thoughts when the man had knocked, pondering over a lot of things, Olivier one of them.

She'd arrived three days ago, much less enthusiastic than he'd hoped. Seemed withdrawn when they got short moments alone, though showed her usual mask to others. Upon his question if she'd be willing to talk alone with him for an evening, the questions and words pressing in his mind, she'd answered evasively. And he'd not taken it to heart, gave her the space she seemingly needed instead. Though he wondered what was having her mind in its grip.

So badly, painfully, that it made her scream like this.

Scar pressed his hand to the lock of her door after a nod from him, the light from the transmutation little, but still bright in the night. Stood back then, Miles having told him what could be expected, that it would be better if he waited outside. That General Armstrong was more than just highly trained, that it had taken years of knowing the other until Captain Buccaneer had taught him what to do in the rare case they had to wake her up.

Stepped inside, caging his heart that screamed in tune with her for the moment. Navigated the dark rooms until he reached the bedroom, watched her trashing form, listened to how heavily she breathed. Instantly noted that no dream he'd ever seen her have before had been as bad as this one. She was trashing, there were tears and sweat, the sounds she made almost inhuman. Readied himself, pushing down the questions running wild in his mind, as to what had her this troubled.

Rolled back the sleeves of his dress-shirt and inched closer to the bed.

Olivier was fast and strong, her instincts a powerful and fear-inducing thing. Others scrambled from you when you woke them up, she attacked. She'd broken Buccaneers left arm once, when waking her up had went awry, another time she'd almost reached her sword.

Pulled the weapon in question towards him and put it out of reach, her screams echoing in his ears.

Got ready to pinch her toes, the end of the bed between them, aware that she would lunge in his direction. His eyes scanning for other weapons, for normal things capable of being used as such, coming up empty. Moved forward another inch, pinched one of her few remaining toes, and ducked.

The most notable change that her screaming stopped almost instantly, making way for heavy breathing, the sound of bedsprings screeching because of a sudden movement. The silence hard to withstand, though he was ready to move when she was.

Her hand coming to rest on the end of the bed, his arms shooting up, winding tightly around hers, pressing them against her torso. The way she trashed in his grip powerful, almost too much, her legs kicking wildly. He heard them connect with the bedframe, the wall, with his own, the pain immense, yet manageable. Was glad to have gotten a hold of her the right way, mouth away from him, her bite as strong as her bark.

Spoke to her, voice level, only one sentence in repeat.

"Olivier, it's me, Miles. Everything's alright."

Interspersed that with shushing noises, trying to hold her tighter the lesser she trashed.

Felt her still against him after a while, her breathing still laboured, but her own. The shivers that seemed to overtake her each time when she fully woke up, came to herself again, though in more than a decade this was only the third time he had to wake her. The first time he did it alone. Debated whether he should let her go now, or maybe bundle her up in a blanket.

His decision made when he, for the first time in his life, heard a sob escape her.

Turned her around in his arms, pulled her to his chest without thinking about it. His hands finding her back, soothingly running up and down, brushing tousled and wet hair out of the way. Breathed deeply with her, whispering his "It's going to be allright’s" to her. Became aware of the pain where she'd kicked his calf, the sweat clinging to her turning cold, her shivers intensifying.

The Peacekeepers knock seeming faint to him, his heavy steps in the hallway. The head pocking through the doorway, alert and severe, gaze inquiring. Miles answered with a slight wave of his hand, silently showing that everything was as alright as it could be given the situation. His Ishvalan brother pointing to the floor, at which he for the first time noticed the blood.

Felt panic rise for a moment, wondering from where it came, if Olivier maybe was hurt. Thoughts interrupted by Scar yet again, the man setting down a small first-aid-kit, part of every newly-build house, with a slight thumb. And then the door closed, first the one to the bedroom, then the one to the house.

Just them now, still standing in the semi-darkness of the night, his arms wound around her.

Her breaths no longer as laboured, no more sobs having escaped her either, though she was still shivering like a new-born bear cub. Carefully pushed her towards the bed upon noticing this, manoeuvred her to sit down, wrapping a blanket around her. Took in her face, ashen and tear-streaked, her eyes looking anywhere but him. Spotted a wound on her foot, a nasty gash she must've gotten while trashing. It wasn't bleeding too much anymore, but could get dirty easily, maybe already was. He stood up, grabed the first-aid-kit and settled in front of her.

"Does it hurt when I do that?"

Pressed his fingers in such a way to her foot, like you would when searching for broken bone. Looked at her, feeling nothing out of the ordinary, her head shaking "no" too, gaze still averted. Noticed with a pang that the tears were still rolling.

"You do not have to tell me of course..."

Spoke gently, while he dabbed a piece of gauze into the cleaning-alcohol, softly swiping at her wound.

"...there is so much we still have to talk about and I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

Caught several pieces of lint on the fabric, turned the cloth inside-out and swiped at the wound again.

"...but if there's anything I can help you with, just, I'm here for you, okay?"

Had felt that her eyes were boring into him while he cleaned her wound, turned to her when he was done talking, finally catching her blues. There was distance, though her mask wasn’t in place, but also longing. Was finally sure that something had to be troubling her more than just deeply, that the space she needed had been used for thoughts, too big for her mind.

Saw her sit there, mouth gaping at him and dug a bandage out of the first-aid-kit. Wrapped her foot with it, carefully, not wanting to aggravate the wound. Looked at her again, saw that she tried to form words, the only sound escaping her though another sob.

Finally allowed his heartstrings to be pulled, to sing in pain, sitting down next to her, leaning against the wall with his back and pulling her close. Wound his arms around her, pulled her to his chest, not caring for the moment that they'd not talked about things. Only wanted to help alleviate her pain, the sobs wrecking her body, obviously having bested her walls, her resolve.

Her face pressed into his chest, his voice soft when he spoke.

"When you have seconds thoughts about us, if it puts pressure on you, then I..."

One of her hands sneaking up and out from where they'd been trapped between their bodies, fingers dancing over his chin, his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

Silence stretching for a long while between them, after he kissed her fingertips, showing that he understood. Listened to her sobs, his heart throbbing in pain together with her, while it also beat faster at the notion of her not thinking of them as a mistake. A thought crossing his mind, snippets from the paper, certain dates missing from his pile. He had a hunch what had happened, though took his time forming a sentence.

"Olivier...", used her first name without hesitation. "Olivier, that thing about your old trainer, that Maximoff, this trial they're talking about in the newspapers..."

Another sob escaping her, prompting him to hold her even tighter.

Knew what her dream must've been about, at least in parts. That he'd never gotten the full story of her training, aware that she'd never dared to share it, afraid of breaking down. Only knew her kills, that Herman, a soldier later assigned to the Wall, had been her accomplice during those years as an assassin. A few bits and pieces about the two years before those, but never enough to do more than leave him wondering.

That she spent the time from the day after her sixteenth birthday, until the day after her eighteenth birthday, in what could best be described as hell.

Had seen mannerisms, how she reclused after sneak-missions. The way she'd been when he'd first become part of the Wall, her humour, dry like the desert, not something she'd even noticed. She'd been almost utterly detached from herself as a person, saw herself as a means to an end, nothing more. Buccaneer had always told him how she'd been at first, snarky still and stern, strong-willed, but not grounded in herself.

And over the years she'd changed, not much, but enough for him, other long-timers at the Wall, to notice.

Made jokes deliberately, was caught by them when a mission called for skills she'd rather forget. The first time he'd seen a smile from her, no smirk or grin, but a real smile, his heart had stopped beating for a few moments, having prompted Buccaneer to ask if he was choking and then hitting him on the back with enough force to break one of his ribs.

Was granted a look behind her mask more and more often, astounded how much of an actor she was, how good too. But had understood at the same time, that the man that had trained her, even after so many years his name only uttered on the rarest of occasions, had destroyed a part of her. Reduced it to pieces, or tried to at least.

Had wanted to leave her as a husk, the most beautiful grim-reaper one could imagine.

That at least what he thought, though she'd never outright spoken with him about it. But his heart, his mind, had let itself not be deterred by that, had begun and then kept on loving her. Thought himself strong enough to try and help rebuilding that part together with her.

And now he held her in his arms, closer than he ever did before. The occasion not a happy one, though he at the same time felt honoured by her trust. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then, after another hour of just being close, holding her tightly while her hands fisted in his dress-shirt, she started to talk.

Quietly, unevenly, her voice wavering more than once.

The truth off the hell she'd been through, only realising that it was such when it was too late, when she'd already felt the changes made to be irreversible. How she lost sight of herself, how a whole range of emotions was evicted from her mind for more than a decade, acting instead hammered into her. How hard it had been to regain her self, a feat that she felt she owed to him and Buccaneer.

The tears falling from his face too, unbridled, telling her that she fought for it herself the most.

He listened then, when she with a shaky voice retold her dream, a memory from her first few months of training. How she'd been forced to exercise in the rain, almost delirious. That she'd beat her peers, already ingrained into her mind the will to be the best, to be outstanding at everything.

Sobbed again, when telling him that she'd finally put two and two together, talked of a boot at her back, when remembering this before always discarding it as an unimportant detail. But now could make an end of it, together with her face being pushed into mud.

That she understood now that it hadn't been her muscles giving out back then, but that Maximoff had tried to kill her.

Wanted to do the same to the man, to drown him, strangle him, anything, instead holding her tighter. Shivered together with her, experiences seen in new light, turned on their head.

And she told him of the trial to come, that Maximoff would maybe finally get what he deserved, though there was a decent chance that he wouldn’t. That the guy was a con-man to the bone, had friends in the right positions.

And he in turn presented her with a solution, shaking her up again, though he held her through it.

Was her anchor when she shivered some more, like she’d been during the Ishvalan war for him. No more tears to give, her throat dry and unable to sob anymore. Sunk into him, against him. And then she asked him something that he'd always feared she thought about herself.

"Do you think me a monster? A mindless killer for the things I've done? I don't know so many things, I'm not even sure that I can love you!"

Let them sink to the side, slowly, resting their heads on a pillow. Saw the sun rising again in the sky, astonished at the hours they talked, how wonderfully normal their touches, their clinging to the other, now felt. His arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"A monster? A mindless Killer? No, I don't think so. You're neither of those, you're too kind for that, have saved too many for that. And loving is easy dear, I'm willing to show you."

His eyes trained on hers, red and puffy, not beautiful, but not making her less beautiful either. Showing the humanity that she feared to be lacking. His hand softly trailing her cheek, her exhausted features. Her voice so soft when she spoke.

"Is it hard?"

Pulled her closer again.

"Not at all."

Only fully relaxed when she finally fell asleep, her breathing even.

* * *

He'd feared that he'd see her on the train back to Central.

Was sitting at the window of the last waggon that still offered up some space, looking through the pane of glass, seemingly deep in thought. He had to wonder when she’d slipped in, the train only departing in several minutes. Why he’d not seen Miles at the station, sure that the man would not just let her leave like that.

Asking himself if she’d told him the truth of what she’d have to face in Central.

Slid open the door to her compartment, smiling still, voice cheerful.

“Well, well, well, if that isn’t my favourite Lieutenant General!”

Her head whipping to him, her face a snarl. If mere words could cut, he’d be in pieces.

“Brigadier General Mustang! To what do I owe the displeasure?”

Her demeanour not fooling him.

He couldn’t even remember the first time he’d set foot into Armstrong Manor, but his Aunt had said that it had still been with his parents. Acquaintances of Miss Armstrong she’d told him. Olivier had already been alive, Amue too, Strongine though little more than a bump. He had no clear memories from this visit, only flashes. A screaming toddler, a pre-schooler with long blonde hair running around. Only later, when he came just with his Aunt, the memories became clearer.

Him and her had been nothing short of friends, however far time pushed them apart.

“My move to Central, Ma’am. You surely remember that?”

Her “tch” made with an extra-pinch of disdain.

She knew of all of his plans, was part of them. Though he’d thought that things would be a bit different. That the future liaison of Ishval would maybe be by her side, her ride back to the city not so soon either.

The talk of screaming near the guest-quarters had made the rounds this morning, of Major Miles arriving later than usual at his workstation. There’d been talk of unrest amongst the ranks and arrangements being made.

He’d not caught the Peacekeeper during the day, so wasn’t as informed as usual, Hawkeye too busy with packing up their things.

“And you are already traveling back? I though vacation-time is hard to come by at Briggs?”

Her gaze ensuring him that she was slicing him apart in her mind.

“Important business Mustang, as you surely very well know!”

“So, you’re going to testify against Maximoff?”

There was anger in her form, displeasure, but also something else: fear.

Only a tad, but enough to notice.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business!”

Even though it was commonly thought that angering her, irritating her, was one of his favourite pastimes, this was only true for when it was because of harmless fun. He wasn’t set on making her live miserable, nor did he want her to be unhappy.

“And it’s also none of my business that you’ll leave Lt. Colonel Miles a mess with your departure? He is supposed to lead this endeavour now. In this state…”

Her eyes narrowing more than he’d thought possible, her demeanour not an act now, but true aggression.

“Say what you want to say Roy-Boy, you seem to think it to be oh-so important!”

The feeling he got upon hearing her words reminding him strongly of the times he’d asked his aunt if he was allowed to go out for the night. Her answer often having been a rather passive-aggressive “do what you think is right!”.

Knew that he should keep his mouth shut and stay put, but didn’t.

“Well Armstrong, I’m not one to tell you what to do, but leaving seems a bit stupid to me.”

Her head crocked to the side slightly before she spoke.

“Because you think the whole Maximoff-business should stay buried?”

Took up her offer for a discussion, however precarious her mood seemed to be.

“No, but because you asked me that I keep that whole business from Lt. Colonel Miles. And now you leave without telling him about something that must’ve been one of the most horrible things one could life through!”

Her posture impossibly straightening, one eyebrow risen.

“And?!”

A scoff escaping him.

“And that you should have shared this with him! He’d be by your side without question, Olivier! This fool of a man loves you, with all his heart! And you? I truly think you’re just scared to be happy!”

Her relaxation, her slight laughter, unexpected.

“And I think you really are a shithead, Roy-Boy. I think the discussion about feeling worthy of love and happiness we had before? How about you ask people what they’re about to do, before just thinking that your own ideas are facts?”

And as if on cue, the train started to move and the door to their compartment slid open.

He expected Hawkeye, who’d gone to the back of the train to discuss something with one of the Ishvalans traveling west with them, but got none other than Lt. Colonel Miles.

The man sitting down next to Armstrong without a hitch.

“Lt. Colonel, you’re traveling with us?”

His try to seem suave in the face of miscalculation making Armstrong snort.

“Indeed I am, General. A trial that demands my attention for the next few weeks. But do not worry, as I’ve put capable people in key-positions, so Ishval can continue to thrive in my absence.”

The quarter-Ishvalan smiling charmingly at him, while Armstrong was still looking amused.

“Okay, I missed something here. You win Armstrong, so, care to enlighten me?”

Jumped his own shadow not with grace, but with the admittance that he’d apparently gotten something the wrong way. Maybe had been too set on thinking that one of his oldest friends was incapable of change.

Miles leaning forwards, closing the curtain of the compartment, while Armstrong opened her mouth to speak.

“You’re on track with the fact that I’ll testify during the trial, I’ll give you that. There’s simply too big of a chance that Maximoff will get away with everything if I don’t.”

Gestured towards the man next to her, his question clear.

“I’ll go with her, have her back.”

What stunned him into silence for a good while, the two opposites of him communicating meanwhile through the slightest of movements. Was glad that he’d apparently gotten the gist of the situation in the morning wrongly, that they’d at least talked, however much.

Saw that her mask was still in place, that Lt. Colonel Miles was as guarded as always and yet…

“You have a plan?”

Olivier did not smile, but she smirked at him. Realization dawned that she’d planned for him to nag her. Gulped audibly.

“I’m part of the plan!”

Miles pulled out a notepad and he got comfier on the cushions. This was going to be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite you to leave:
> 
> _Short comments_   
>  _Long comments_   
>  _Questions_   
>  _Constructive criticism_   
>  _Reader-reader interaction_
> 
> I reply to every comment, though it sometimes takes me a day, or two.
> 
> I thank you for reading this fic of mine through to the end. I appreciate all comments and kudos and should you want to get into direct contact with me [this is my tumblr](http://illidria.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Gosh, this still sounds a bit wodden, eh? I'll make it better when I find the time^^


	3. Wants us to fight it

He’d never understand how Payen had managed to become General.

The man had been a few years older than him when joining the academy, had only in his mid-twenties decided to join the military. Was a skilled marksman, had shown himself to be physically able, but proven himself to have little drive.

Payen been so sure of his opinions, the things he thought he knew, that he’d never done all that he himself perceived was needed to rise up the ranks.

Maximoff was perplexed by that to an extent, as Payen had seemingly been lauded up the ranks practically, having joined later and yet after only a decade outranking them all. Was soon taken on as adjutant to the General of Fort Briggs, whom he later took over the position from.

And now was standing at the foot of the main-fields watchtower in front of Western HQ, the General of Fort Briggs, leading his troops into the West-North joint training.

 _His_ masterpiece at the Generals back.

Payen seemingly allowed her to wear her hair open and long, the long tresses hiding one eye from view. Her posture had not suffered, back still ramrod straight as on the day he’d released her into Special Commands hands. Had not kept tabs on her, as he did not need to, so easy to discern which important and unimportant fingers had fallen under her hands.

He was aware that they’d tried to get rid of her after almost a decade of special operations, having transferred her as canon-fodder to the southern border-wars. That she there had a falling out with her commander, refusing to die in battle, instead saving her own and her squads life. Was punished with being send up to Briggs, where all such tough cases were send.

She wasn’t the first of his creations they’d tried to get rid of, the soldiers he gave the high command often so deadly and their instincts trained so strongly, that disposing of them in a normal way was highly dangerous. Was aware that they’d send her North, so she’d fall victim to the harsh conditions.

Laughed then, loudly, not only drawing the gaze of the soldiers sitting next to him, but hers, too.

She was Colonel Olivier Mira Armstrong now and even though they were at separate sides of the main-field, he could see that she did not move one muscle upon recognising him. Had always been braver than most, stronger, more strong-willed too. And was not startled by the fact that she had risen through the ranks at Briggs, stood at Payens back, was his adjutant.

Wondered if the old man wanted her to follow in his footsteps.

Maximoff hadn’t watched much of the joint training, was too busy with his own work, since a few years only charged with training new recruits according to military standards. After Armstrong he’d never seen someone with such talent again, had felt his temper rise and in turn was soon informed, that keeping what the others in on his projects called “missteps” under wraps, became nearly impossible.

As such, he’d changed jobs, still read the papers, kept tabs on his former disciple’s. One had risen through the ranks too, was head of the prison with the highest security in Amestris. Another had after some time taken up a job in the intelligence department, putting his skills to good use for his country. He’d have been better as a blade in Maximoff’s opinion, but was used to people not listening to his suggestions once his recruits were in different hands.

This day though, where hand-picked parts of the northern and western forces would duel, was always his favourite. It was a show of hidden skill and, sadly, wasted opportunity at times, but still entertaining to watch. And now, as a sabre-duel was announced and Payen nodded towards his adjutant, Maximoff felt his pulse race.

He’d not seen her fight in so long, always having prided himself in being the only one that could truly understand the beauty of her deadly dance.

Watched, the crowd of westerners around him murmuring profanities and being glared at by the Briggs-troops for that, how she readied her sabre and got rid of her jacket, rolling up the sleeves of her black thermos-shirt. Saw Payen wave at the opposing General when he only send out one man to fight her, the gesture clear: send more.

Only when it was three against one, the mingled soldiers placing bets, did General Payen show that he was alright with this set-up and that the battle could commence.

There was her mask first, this indifferent face while fighting, Armstrong letting herself be attacked to no-doubt gauge the proficiency of her foes. Dodged their strikes with ease, never staying close enough to be harmed, moving with a light-step under the cloudy sky.

The western troops were howling at her, throwing taunts, but he knew that she wouldn’t react to those. Instead she let the three men circle her, let them close in on her. And then, when one of them struck and she brought her sabre up in defence, making it seem like she wasn’t as much of a trained sword-fighter as them, her face lost what he’d so carefully crafted.

He saw how her mouth stretched wide over her face, full lips pulled thin, the grin wide and wolfish. Her eyes turned to slits, hair falling to the side and making it easy to see the second, usually well-hidden one. With ferocity she now attacked, right when her foes seemed to least expect it.

Anger coursing through him rather then pride when she obliterated them quickly, always focusing on one and using her skill to almost become invisible to the other two. His fists balling when she disarmed one after another, jumped and ducked and let her sabre clash with the last one still standing.

He’d not trained her for that, to take enjoyment from a fight without real stakes. He’d formed her to fight for life and death and to only train, so she could further her skills. She was not to feel the thrill of battle, had it beaten into her by him, that adrenalin was something you seeked out intentionally, but only so you could be a more efficient blade.

Remembered the times he had her repeat his mantras, aiming the hose in the showers at her face when her words waivered.

Watched her dodge the last foes attack, her hand gripping the mans wrist quickly, forcing him to let go of his weapon. Her blade at his neck, a grim smile on her face.

The shake-hands afterwards what had him stand up, unnoticed due to the cheering soldiers around him doing the same.

Had she forgotten his teachings? Her head turned by the conveniences of being a high-ranking soldier? Was halfway across the field to her, when he saw her step to the side, features again devoid of emotion. Stopped then, not because a huge soldier blocked his way, talking to her, but something clicked.

Looked on, stepping back into the crowd again, when she fell into step behind General Payen, the troops moving fields for the next part of the joint training.

He heard their quick exchange, inwardly clapping himself on the shoulder for turning her into such a perfect actress.

Payens voice croaky with age.

“Tell me again Colonel, how was training under Maximoff?”

Her answer quick and punctual.

“Hell.”

He was almost convinced that she meant it.

* * *

The hall was quiet, Maximoff seated in the middle.

He’d aged well, though needed the help of a cane to move now. Had gotten a potbelly, a moustache, had greyed evenly. Still looked like a normal soldier, like a nice neighbour, the one your kids would ask for help should something happen. Sat in the chair easily, happily, putting on a show.

The blue-coats around him, she among them, looking. Some with horror on their faces, other with disbelieve in their eyes. Eyes only rarely straying from the man, though if they did, then always searching for her.

The times he tried to get their gazes to lock she instead used for finding others she knew. Had found Mustang on the other side of the room, but also two others that had been under Maximoff’s “care” before her.

They’d recognised one another, nodded, and pulled the masks over their faces tighter.

“You freely admit to having inhumanely treated those soldiers under your care, many of them underage?”

The grey hair over his lips moving with them when he smiled, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I was ordered to train them to be the best of the best. I did just that.”

The judge was ambitious for taking on that case, probably did not know what she was getting herself into. She’d soon understood, as soon as hunger and thirst were no constant companions of her anymore, that Maximoff was not just perceptive and cruel, hungry for praise, but smart.

That the man was a con-artist.

“There have been several reported cases of hefty injury, abuse, mistreatment bordering on torture and one written testimony, concerning attempted murder. Not to mention the plethora of other things on your records.”

Saw the unease in the man who’d trained her, so many years ago, maybe imagined him to stiffen just a little. Though that slimy smile did not leave his face.

“The plethora of other things that nobody could ever proof. And you left out that it was Central Command that send me these recruits, all having signed up for military service of their own free will. And what is that of attempted murder? Something I missed?”

The unease now creeping into her brain, leaving her heart. The judge leaning forward, glasses slipping to the tip of her nose.

“We have a written testimony that you tried to kill Lieutenant General Olivier Mira Armstrong, then...”, mumbled through her old rank, the date she recognized, rattled off to the crowd that she’d been sixteen about that time.” …by pushing her into mud during heavy rains, effectively trying to suffocate her. During a press-up training you pushed her down with your boot, held her there for several minutes, until she stopped struggling. It is written here, that you reacted in a shocked manner when she pushed herself up again after several minutes, showing signs of clearly being alive.”

Maximoff’s smile faltering, his head turning, until his eyes landed on her.

“Well, I’d say she isn’t dead, huh?”

His joke, if it even was one, making nobody laugh. His stance, voice, getting more defensive then, anger mixed into it. She recognised with an almost depraved feeling of satisfaction, that he was feeling backed into a corner.

“Does it not scare you to think about how dangerous they are? Three of them are here today, in this room and I assure you, all of them are carrying weapons, however thoroughly you searched them. Not that they’d need them.”

The crowd, the judge, the witnesses, all quiet, listening to Maximoff. Like he was telling them a most enthralling fairy tale.

“The two men would shoulder their way through, you could probably stop them, but her?”

Maximoff having the audacity to point in her direction, drawing gazes like a string.

“She could be behind me any second, the blood would be ruining my vest and only then you’d notice that she’d even stood up!”

All eyes turning to her now, though she only crocked her head the tiniest bit to the side, face still a cold mask. The storm raging inside of her not seen by anybody, her mask holding.

“Mr. Maximoff, the charges stand and seem to be valid, testimonies will be gathered shortly. This is your chance now to voice regret or sorrow for what you have done, or to plead guilty, which would be counted as favourable behaviour and would help reduce your sentence.”

The man, his face etched into her mind, putting on the same kind of mask she wore, only saying two words.

“Not guilty!”

Left the room, the building, like she was in a trance.

This was only the opener, much more would come and though she knew that she’d get through this, that she was stronger even that that old bastard thought, it had her inwardly shivering in fear still. Her thoughts gloomy, people, journalists, behind her, shouting questions.

And when she was safely inside of her hotel room again, her shadow, having followed her from the court without a hitch, took her hands in his, holding her tight.

The warm truth that Miles was her anchor in all of this, easing some of the tension.

* * *

He’d darkened the room and just embraced her wordlessly.

He’d not been in the courtroom, was not allowed to as his attendance had no importance to the case, but had heard everything afterwards anyway. First Mustang filling him in on what the man having started this whole trial had said under oath, how he’d witnessed the attempted murder of Olivier, how he’d himself had suffered under Maximoff and how some of it still had him in its grip.

Then the testimony from Olivier, seeing the reactions of her fellow Generals filing out of the room, Miles  knowing her story already. Had shadowed her on their way to the waiting car, had shielded her from the press and lead her to their room at the hotel, after she’d spent the whole ride sitting rigid, with her eyes trained on nothing and her hand gripping his like a vice.

He’d helped her shed the uniform, lead her to the bed and only moments later he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight and pulling the blanket over their heads.

The worst was how she shook, these days her nerves stretched thin, her energy drained.

Yet, she nestled into him, positively tried to burrow under his skin. And he answered in kind, holding her tighter, pulling her into him. Would shield her with his skin if he only could, protect her from all the troubles in this world.

She said nothing about the words said today, him neither, but they still hung in the room, over their heads, hardly giving them a moment to rest.

The man they owed this trial to, neither sure if it was a good idea at all yet, had dropped a name today. Someone they’d started training with, who’d stayed longer than he had, he’d said. Who’d at some point must’ve been the only recruit together with Olivier. Another woman, who was missing according to the files, vanished from the face of the earth only a day after she’d dropped out of Maximoff’s program.

Olivier had been asked about it according to Mustang, to which she’d only replied that answering the question would be a violation of state-secrets.

It was a crux, that she could only testify on what she’s suffered herself, but not what she’d seen also, because Miles knew of the fate of this other woman. That her name had been Jennifer Saunders, that Maximoff had killed her for not obeying his orders.

That he’d killed her right in front of Olivier, who just now seemed to suffer a violent nightmare because of that.

Held her through it tightly, trying to close off his heart, to not let it get to him how she trashed, failing miserably.

With each day the trial commenced, her dreams got worse. Not one night she’d slept through, her appetite was vanishing more and more. Many had come to their aid, files found, Herman traveling here from his home in the west. Mustang was on their side too, had called upon the help of Grumman, to make it possible for Olivier to testify without having to fear repercussions for revealing secrets of the state.

Hawkeye and he were walking the hallways while all were in the courtroom, gathering information and opinions, learning which General thought what through their adjutants milling about. Olivier’s brother was constantly trying to get in touch with the rest of the family, currently on vacation, so they could come and have their daughters back.

And yet, when night fall it was he that was by her side.

Just wishing that once this trial was over, when Maximoff was behind lock and key, that he could take her with her for a while. Have her sit in the sun, get her to eat something, just help her relax and forget and sleep.

Her eyes shooting open in that moment, her breathing hard.

“I..I…”

He cooed, kissing her forehead and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

“Don’t worry love, I’m here.”

* * *

“You have looked into the medical files compiled after she left my training? If there’d have been something out of the ordinary, why only bring it up now?”

The judge was a stubborn woman, he had to admit that. Had made it to the rank of Colonel his assigned counsel had told him, opting to take up the position and schooling to become a judge in military court. He’d love to say that she was biased against him, but had the feeling that she simply could see through his charade.

“Because other files have been brought forward Mr. Maximoff, that contradict those compiled by your own staff. Mr. Ethan Herman, retired Major of the amestrian Military, has been, according to my files, in charge of keeping an eye on new arrivals during the aerugan-border skirmishes following the assassination of General Hooper. He came forward with information regarding your former disciple’s physical health, that makes it seem like the first reports you made were heavily palliated.”

He laughed again, his eyes sweeping through the crowd.

Herman was a name he’d never heard before and as such couldn’t be important. Hooper had been Armstrong’s doing, that much he knew, and also that she’d stayed for a while at a base in the region, seemingly having been injured during her escape.

The tall man walking past him upon being called-on only deepening his feeling of safety.

Dark hair, fair skin and a small belly. Herman seemed to have shaved for today, though his clothes, civilian, looked like middle class at the most. His step sure though, the folder he carried with him big.

Was asked to take a seat and answered all asked questions with a steady voice.

“Mr. Herman, would you please point out the strongest disparities in the medical files offered by Maximoff’s team and those made by yours?”

Sat straight in the middle of the courtroom, noticed Armstrong’s gaze on the man. She knew him.

“Yes Ma’am. When then Sergeant Major Armstrong was brought before our medical stuff, several deep traumas caused by repeated injury were noted. For one, several fatigue fractures were found, on hands, feet and ribs. Also, a barely scarred over cut beneath her chin, width and length speaking for a knife pressed deeply into the skin. I would like you to note here, that the scarring was too advanced to have been the result of a wound outside of training.”

He kept his eyes trained on the man testifying, while a lot of people in the room were eying Armstrong, as if she’d lift her chin and show them the thin, white line.

Deserved, in his opinion, as she’d squirmed while he’d impressed on her what happened to those breaking his principles.

“It was also noted that her cornea was damaged, most likely by either dirt or high-pressured water hitting her eyes. We also found numerous bruises, or rather the imprints of those, not yet healed. Here again the time needed for them to fully heal speaks for a date of injury predating her work in the field.”

The judge looked over the rim of her glasses.

“Are you a trained medic, Mr. Herman?”

“No Ma’am, my knowledge does not extend beyond the usual field-care for emergencies. I’m merely reciting the documents we handed over to the court.”

Maximoff allowed himself to smile at that, knowing that this rendered the man’s testimony practically useless.

“Then tell me, why is it so important to recite her injuries to the people in attendance, when you are aware that the findings in the documents forwarded to us will shortly be explained by a medically well-versed person?”

Leaned back in his chair then, the deconstruction of this Mr. Herman amusing him, the way the judge pinpointed every flaw now having him see her differently.

Herman gulping, loosing some of his cool, yet apparently not being devoid of determination.

“To impress on you, Ma’am, and all other in attendance, that these injuries were suffered by a child. When then Sergeant Major Armstrong was send to our base, she told us, more than once I might add, that she was legally an adult for about a month at that time. This means all injuries suffered under Maximoff, as well as the mental trauma inflicted by him, were suffered by a minor!”

Maximoff stopped leaning back into his chair at that, wiped the smile from his own face.

He knew a dirty tactic when he saw it, was appalled that it seemed to work, judging by the reactions of the people in the ranks. The judge only cleared her throat.

“Would you be willing to answer some more questions, Mr. Herman?”

The man’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes set on the woman, not straying once. His voice full of determination.

“Of course, Ma’am!”

* * *

_“Lieutenant General, is it true that some of the trauma inflicted on you has repercussions to this day?”_

She’d not wanted to answer, but knew she had to.

_“Yes Ma’am.”_

_“May I ask what kind of repercussions?”_

The “may” had been a nice touch, but it was little more than that. At this point she had to use anything to proof that Maximoff had been unnecessarily cruel, had to build up momentum before they would reach the questionings concerning the supposed murder, if it was given clearance at all. At least that’s what the military attorney had said.

_“Any body of water bigger than a bathtub instils the deep fear of drowning in me. It goes so far that I’ve had flashback-like episodes when in the medical bathtubs in Fort Briggs.”_

She’d been glad that the Judge had rendered this part of her questioning to not be open for the public or spectators, such things at least a bit easier to talk about in the small circle of people they’d been. And yet, having to say such things while Maximoff was still in the room…

Deciding to at least try not dwelling on it, she turned the water running into the hotel-rooms bathtub off, adding the additive Miles had urged her to use. A smell instantly wafting through the room when hitting the water, turning it a tinge purple. Lavender had never been her favourite, but Miles was fond of it, and she didn’t hate it either.

Slipped her leg into the warm water, with a deep breath forcing the rest of her body to follow, todays questions still heavy on her mind, the things unearthed suddenly feeling fresh again.

As a child she’d loved swimming, her family had owned a pool even. When the weather and temperatures let her, she’d been swimming for hours, had dived too. Could hold her breath for a very long time and had more than once scared her parents with that. Once they’d even been to the ocean, this family vacation her favourite by far.

The blue in front of her had been endless, the pull of the waves on her feet strong, yet she’d proven to be stronger then. Had loved to dive and see a world usually forgotten by most, so diverse and deep that it had, almost literally, taken her breath away.

And now, even though she only lay in a tub, the thought of the ocean scared her. She’d trained diligently with Maximoff, in later missions often still forced to dive into rivers or hide in mud. It had always done something with her, but she’d at the same time known that whenever push came to shove, she’d be able to fend off her fears.

As such, when she’d once broken into a lake near Briggs, taken by the undertow, she’d made it out unscathed with the help of her comrades. Had seen it as a mission to survive, however sudden the ice had broken beneath her. The panic had only come when she’d been lowered into one of the medical tubs by doc, to stave of frostbite and hypothermia.

The very second the water had hit her throat, she’d panicked.

Afterwards she had to build a tolerance to having her body encased in water again, a feat not easy, but still managed over time. Had because of that decided to take a bath today, however difficult it had been, deliberately vanishing into the bathroom when Miles was downstairs, getting them something to eat.

She’d be unwatched and could fight with her demons alone.

The water was warm around her, the smell nice. She felt bones pop and muscles loosen up, let herself sink a bit deeper. Though of Miles when the water hit her throat, how he’d sat behind her in the water a few days ago, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

Shimmied herself down deeper, closing her mouth tightly and taking a deep breath.

Diving, fully submerging her head in the water, not counting seconds. Only wanted to let herself get used to the feeling, to prove to herself that she still could do it, that Maximoff’s grip on her wasn’t nearly as strong as he liked to believe. Knew better than to open her eyes, the lavender additive surely going to sting if she exposed them to it.

Instead only let her head break the surface again when she felt like air was slowly running out, blindly reaching for the prepared washcloth and wiping at her face. Opened her eyes to Miles sitting on the small stool put into the bathroom as decoration, a platter of food in hand.

His eyes not hidden by his glasses, only a tiny bit worried. His smile wide though, easy, like his voice.

“And I was wondering where you vanished to!”

Smiled alongside him, took a look at the plate in his hand and then the food he offered her.

Their conversation not easy, nothing had been since that damned trial, but warming her from the core, making it easier for her to relax. His hands holding open the towel for her when she left the water, encasing her into a hug much tighter, yet less forceful, than the water around her had been.

And she let her head fall to his shoulder, just breathing him in.

* * *

He’d been appointed to listen in the Fuhrers stead, not even five people in the room with him.

There was Maximoff, as always on his chair, looking like a frail old man, or at least trying to do a convincing impression of one. The judge in her usual place too, the dark hair braided and her face stern. She’d been very thoughtful in his opinion, had tackled this trial much better than some of the other judges he knew would’ve, not in the least afraid to expose the things done under Bradley. The assigned counsel to Maximoff, as well as the militaries counsel were also there, both looking a bit nervous because of the severity of what they were part of.

In the middle sat Armstrong, her dress-blues impeccable, her face giving absolutely nothing away.

They were now able to talk about secrets of the state, in the strict limitations of concerning this trial. His appeal to Grumman had made that possible, the judge awarded with the permission to ask questions and to use the answers given under oath when making her judgement. Only she could ask Armstrong, Armstrong in turn only allowed to answer to her.

Obliged to answer to her, too.

He could barely imagine the pressure, had seen Miles and the at-least-a-bit-visible nervousness. The dark rings under the mans eyes, the worry. It made him appreciate how good of an actor Armstrong seemed to be, because if anything ever affected her, then it was Miles wellbeing.

“Lieutenant General Armstrong, in what relation did you stand to Jennifer Saunders?”

It impressed him how they could both be so factual in the face of it all.

“We started training under Maximoff roughly at the same time.”

“Were you friends?”

“We slept in the same bunkhouse. Maximoff encouraged us to not become friends, so we didn’t.”

The man accused was sitting in his chair, his charade falling more with every day that passed. He’d lost some of his composure when Herman had spoken in front of the judge. Even more, when Armstrong had admitted to having been abused by him physically and psychologically. That she still suffered from the trauma he inflicted on her.

“Could you tell me what kind of soldier she was?”

“Diligent and punctual, Ma’am. She followed Maximoff’s orders almost perfectly.”

Not only he leaned forward with interest at that, but the judge also.

“Almost?”

“We lived at the camp under a very strict set of rules, one of which she’d broken.”

He saw that the judge was about to ask which rule, but Maximoff was suddenly speaking, not looking at any of them, but boring his eyes into Armstrong.

Spoke with force and a low undertone that made his skin crawl.

_"Your secrets are not yours to share! Remember what happens to those that talk!"_

And while he watched how Armstrong seemed to become smaller, when he noticed the shivers overtaking her hand, the judge spoke up.

“One more word from you, and I’ll have you restrained! Now General, tell me which rule she’d broken and what happened following that.”

He was sure for a moment, that Armstrong was rendered silent by her former trainer’s sudden outburst. Her hands kneading in her lap, her eyes downcast, sometimes darting through the room.

Wondered for a moment, if the judge would press her and what would happen if she did not answer. Saw what the man accused had done to her plainly after all, not even wanting to think about the damage Maximoff could still do.

An idea hit him.

He rummaged through his pockets, the summer sun having been almost blinding on his way to the court, the one thing he used to counter it hastily stuffed into his pocket upon entering. Made his move look like an accident, the pair of sunglasses falling to the hardwood-floors with a sharp clang, drawing everybody’s eyes.

And with one deep breath, squaring her shoulders, Armstrong spoke.

Told them the tale of having to witness another girl being murdered right in front of her eyes, for the minor transgression of helping another recruit up in the yard. How Maximoff had used it to impose his rules on her, to fear her into silence, telling her in great detail how he’d get rid of Miss Saunders body, how nobody would believe her, even if she talked. Named where they would find the remains of the woman, probably many others too.

All while looking Maximoff straight in the eye.

* * *

She did not move a muscle when they rendered Maximoff to a lifetime in prison.

His bellows, angry and loud and rude, meant nothing to her, nor the Generals around her applauding. People standing up and turning to leave the courtroom all that was in her vision for quite some time, a small hold-up at the door heard, not seen by her. For several minutes the shuffling went on, while she wasn’t sure how to feel.

Only looked up when silence stretched, two others still in the room too, those that had gone through what she’d gone through. One had his face in his hands, his body heaving, if from laughter or from tears she couldn’t tell. The other staring blankly ahead, unseeing.

Was still swaying between these two options herself, when someone sat down next to her, an arm winding around her shoulders and pulling her close.

“That was one hell of a ride, kiddo!”

Herman’s voice quiet, earnest and soothing, his hug returned by her.

He’d come to her help, had played a big part in this trial. Had looked out for her once more, so ready to put his own safety on the line for her wellbeing. He’d been her mission accomplice back then, one wrong word and the both of them would’ve been sentenced to death for exposing actions the amestrian government would rather forget.

And yet, he’d not hesitated.

“How about we go to the hallway? I saw Miles mug milling about, I think he’s just what you need right now.”

Could not laugh, nor be angry at his prying.

Instead she let herself be helped up by him, at the same time shouting from outside reaching their ears. Someone was yelling _“Restrain him!”_ another person screamed for a medic.

Only one gaze shared confirming that Herman’s instincts were set alight too, their pace hurried when leaving the courtroom, an awful feeling spreading in her gut.

The first thing that hit them not the men holding back Maximoff, nor the cane revealed to harbour a blade inside, but the smell of burned flesh.

Her eyes only slowly registering that Miles was on the ground, people around him, Mustang among them. That there was blood and that Maximoff was still screaming on the top of his lungs.

“That’s for taking her away!”

Moved towards the scene in front of her.

“You think you can change her, ruin my creation?!”

Felt nothing until she reached the space between them, Miles on the floor and Maximoff screaming. Her hand flying to her hip, finding nothing except for the emptiness of a sabre given to the security officer at the door, like all her other weapons.

“She’ll always be a killer at heart, just wait for it!”

Saw his blade on the floor, thin and made for quick stabs instead of slices. Had felt weird about the cane from day one, but now scolded herself for her absentmindedness, for her thoughtlessness.

And _yet_ …

Miles groaned to her left, her body moving of its own accord.

His eyes were fluttering, unseeing, the smell of burned flesh so much stronger now that she was close. There was a wound on his chest, right where his heart was, seared shut. Her hand cupping his face while Maximoff screamed through the hallway.

_"Your secrets are not yours to share! See what happens to those that talk!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have several ways this can go now, and simply would like to hear your opinions ;)


	4. But only leaves a scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is a day earlier than usual, because my vacation starts today. The tags are updated, the story finished with the epilogue I'll add in a few mintues and if you'd tell me what you think, I'd love you forevermore :D

If she’d have been a bit more attentive, she’d have seen the rabbit-hole.

Instead she landed face-first in the muddy expense that had been a nice pasture of grass before the weather took a turn for the worst. Hoisted herself up immediately though, pushing up with her hands, though they slid through the mud. Hoped that Maximoff was not seeing this, as her gut clenched with the mere thought of what he’d do to her then, how he’d berate her for her less than graceful display.

Her hand sliding away again before she could get a good grip, when another hand closed around her wrist.

In a swift and strong movement she was hoisted up, the hand only leaving her when she stood firmly on her own two feet again. In front of her standing Saunders, dark hair pulled up into a ponytail, a jacket thrown over their standard tank top and cloth-pants combination.

“You all right?”

She nodded, testing her mobility, making sure she’d not hurt herself during her fall.

“Everything seems to be in working order. Thank you, I don’t know why I had such trouble getting up.”

Olivier had always admired that somehow Saunders had kept her ability to smile throughout the years, it seeming honest and wide and warm. Not fake, like hers.

“Well, could be because you get half the rations we do. A dedicated gust of wind could take you away.”

They walked together towards the bunkhouse, leaving the soggy mud formerly known as grass and listened to the gravel crunch beneath their booted feet.

“Saunders, Maximoff instructed me to get you!”

Behind them one of the newer guards jogged up, the kind that was only allowed to look through the fence to the outside, the kind that never would know what truly happened here. The “alibis” Maximoff called those.

The woman had nodded at her, Olivier had went and cleaned up.

For some time she’d been allowed to rest, had lain on her cot and thought about how good of an actor Saunders had to be. Or maybe she wasn’t, was truly kind and strong at the same time. Saunders somehow seemed able to not take Maximoff’s words to heart, still seemed like her own person, instead of the husks she and the others seemed to be.

She could not remember if something like this was possible.

A few hours later she was ordered to the western bunkhouse. The name deceiving, as nobody slept inside. It was instead a place for punishment, mistakes being talked through there, penalized accordingly. She knew that many stepping into the building only left it in pieces.

She’d been in there too before, though only twice in her two years in training. Once because during a surprise-attack exercise she’d gone over the top, another time when she’d foolishly let herself be beaten during training.

Did not show her fear though, walked with a straight back and stern face, was let inside after the third knock.

“Armstrong, that was quick! Go and stand on the white dot!”

She did without hesitation, a glob of long-dried paint on the floor marking where she was to stand. She made use of the skills she’d acquired, took in her surroundings. The dark wood all around her, the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

Saunders, hands bound above her head and hanging from the ceiling, toes barely brushing the floor.

She’d lost all composure, tears running down her face, breaths seeming more like heaves. She could see that one shoulder had popped out of the socket already, that the blood from some of the cuts had already dried, a red and dirty crust on deep wounds. Bruises were forming on the other woman’s body, deep, the kind only Maximoff could give you.

After her assessment was done, and she knew Maximoff had deliberately given her the time for it, he rounded on her. Knew by the feel alone that the blunt side of the blade was currently dancing over her throat.

Olivier remained rigid.

“Armstrong, I’ll ask you, because Miss Saunders seems to like playing dumb: Why do you think she is being punished?”

Spoke without hesitation, Saunders’ heaving almost a background noise, the pressure of the blade still on her throat.

“She helped me up in the yard, Sir! We are to leave others behind when they’re too weak to get up on their own, Sir!”

The tears running down Saunders face, mingling with blood from the cuts.

The second she’d been helped up she’d known that this was wrong. You had to get up on your own here, nobody helped you. Needing help was weakness after all, which was a danger to the mission. Was the mission fluked, there could be no kill.

Without a kill she wouldn’t be needed.

“Good girl, you know the rules. And you know what I’m going to do now Armstrong?”

He turned the blade around, the edge not cutting, but the pressure uncomfortable.

“She will be punished for her disobedience, Sir!”

Maximoff’s face close to hers, a smile playing along his lips.

“Watch closely!”

She did.

Watched him severe tendons with precise strikes, listened to the pleas from Saunders, her howls of pain.

“Why am I doing this Armstrong?”

She had her hands clasped behind her back, stood straight, but her own nails stung her flesh.

“You are making sure that she can not flee Sir, should we be interrupted.”

“Good Girl! Hear that Saunders, there’s no escaping!”

And with a hoarse voice the woman tried to speak then, a shiver running down Olivier’s back, while her feet remained rooted to the white dot on the floor.

“Sir, please, I just wanted to help, I…”

The knife was quick, the pleading cut off by another scream.

Maximoff did not mind her for a while, his attention completely focused on Saunders.

“You did _not_ lose your compassion!”

She could not see what Maximoff did to her exactly, the new wounds hidden from view by the mans bulk. But Saunders screams she could still hear, could still see the pain in her eyes.

Locking onto hers.

“Olivier, please, Olivier…”

For more than a year nobody had called her by her first name.

The shock of it and the shiver running through her cut short, when Maximoff punished Saunders for asking for help, something regarded as a deadly sin by him.

His taunts and words and screaming muddling in her mind, the blood rushing from Saunders body, the woman’s screams. It all became a haze to her, mingling and forcing her to detach herself. Only felt her body again when Maximoff’s hand clapped down hard on her shoulder, gesturing towards the now lifeless woman swinging from the ceiling.

Looked into empty eyes, still seeming to be trained on her.

“You let yourself be helped up Armstrong, what does that mean?”

She did not let him in on her fear.

“That I have to be punished, Sir.”

“Damn right!”

The blade touching her throat, the pain excruciating, the empty eyes of Saunders keeping up their staring at her from across the room. Blood running down her throat, over her chest, warm and sticky. The pain staying with her when the blade left her flesh.

Maximoff’s hand cupped her face.

“And now we’ll get you to the doc. Can’t have this one get infected and heal badly. An ugly scar would make it harder to disguise you after all.”

His hand on her shoulder steering her out of the room.

* * *

“There will be no repercussions for her?”

Mustang had been startled by it at first, when Ethan Herman had suddenly stood by his side in the hospital. The man had a train to catch a day after the trial he’d said, had wanted to get back to his family as soon as possible.

“She followed the orders of an officer ranked higher than her back then, was put under the secrecy of being a special forces agent not a week afterwards. The second she’d have said something under Bradley, we’d have found her dead in her bed.”

The other man nodding solemnly, looking together with him through the small window, granting them a view into the hospital room.

Two times they’d reanimated Lt. Colonel Miles before they’d reached the hospital, the following emergency surgery taking more than five hours. He’d crashed once more afterwards, but now was stable, had already woken up once, if only for minutes.

“Does she know yet?”

They’d put the Lt. Colonel onto one of the wider hospital beds, had refrained from closing the shift over his chest, thick with bandages. He breathed on his own since a few hours ago, was only given extra-oxygen to make things easier. And constantly by his side sat Armstrong, curled up on a chair the nurses had pushed as close to the bed as possible, her head resting on the mattress of it, as far as he could see.

Just knew, taking in the back of her head, the blanket they’d thrown over her, that she held Miles hand.

“That Maximoff is dead? No, I don’t think so. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to have felt it.”

Mustang’s memories of the incident in the hallway vivid, how the old man had revealed his cane to be a blade, his eyes zeroing in on Miles and a movement quicker than his guards anticipated leaving the Lt. Colonel on the floor. The wound had been small, but he’d bled a lot, much more than one would’ve thought.

And in his panic Hawkeye had given him clarity, handing over a pair of gloves. He’d known than that it would be an ugly scar.

“They know who’s done it yet?”

Mustang shook his head.

“It’s a mystery at the moment. Wouldn’t be surprised if it stays that way, too. I mean, they found him in a locked cell inside of Amestris prison with the highest security. Cut open from head to toe.”

Herman side-eying him, the question clear, though still uttered.

“Is she on the list of suspects?”

Mustang sighed.

“She _was_. The reasoning was sound too, after everything we heard in the last few days. She’d have every reason to kill the man, now more than ever. And we all saw how she hesitated in the hallway.”

He’d been sure that she’d take the blade that had felled Miles, would do the same to Maximoff. She’d gone blank after all, if only for a few moments, her face losing all emotion, her eyes dull. But then Miles had made a sound and she’d been by his side in an instant.

Had not left it yet too, as far as he knew.

Herman sensed his hesitation, though Mustang was sure that the man knew everything he just told him already. He’d been Armstrong’s handler after all, must’ve been, not believing the story of him overseeing new recruits in the border-war.

“But?”

“But, she’s ridden the ambulance with Miles, has kneaded her hands while he was in surgery. Has not left his side once. And the decision that she couldn’t have been involved was finally made, when I told the MP’s asking that I’ve seen her at the time of the alleged crime, sitting right where she’s sitting know.”

Several other things had backed her not being involved up, too.

Maximoff had been murdered with a blade, but Armstrong’s sword had been found the mourning after the murder, still where the security guard of the court had put it, the blade clean and in perfect condition. She’d not taken it with her when Miles was rushed away, had probably not even thought about it, and as nobody else had fetched it for her, the one weapon Maximoff’s murder had seemingly been committed with, had been out.

And he’d indeed seen her sitting next to Miles bed, just like now wrapped in a blanket, the only thing you could truly see the long blonde tresses. Her family, having finally arrived only hours after the legal decision, had seconded that. Olivier had been in the room the whole time, only once stepping outside to greet them. Mustang had been able to second their statement too, having met Alex on his way in, who was carrying the youngest of the bunch outside, Catherine Elle seeming to be fast asleep, wrapped in blankets tightly, only a small part of her head pocking out.

And last but not least, when people still wanted to investigate her possible involvement, someone had pointed out that the prison was surrounded by 65 feet of water on all sides.

“So, now they’re focusing on the other three that survived Maximoff’s training? I mean, isn’t one of them head of the prison he was murdered in? Seems a likely candidate to me!”

Mustang shook his head, silently glad that he wasn’t involved with this investigation further, the news Hawkeye brought him plenty, making everything even more confusing.

“Has an alibi. His teen-daughter celebrated her birthday, he’d been out of the city with the kids. Fourteen teenagers testified that he’d been there with them and scared them during a night hike with a bear-mask. The other two spend the night in the emergency room of Central Cities Public Hospital, after they got into a bar-fight.”

Herman seemed surprised, Mustang glad that he knew at least a little bit more than this smooth man.

“They were? How did you get those news?”

Mustang shrugged, looking at Armstrong seemingly having woken from her slumber, stretching and looking at the monitors attached to the Lt. Colonel.

“Let’s just say that I know the bartender of the place.”

Herman laughed, a pleasant sound. And while the man had already said that he’d take a train later, had missed the one designated to him due to all the things going on, Mustang couldn’t hold back his question.

“What are you doing here Herman?”

The dark-haired man remaining smooth, smiling with a sad tinge to it and looking at Armstrong, who seemed to have noticed them.

“What does it look like? I’m visiting her. Got her some things.”

Looked at the bag, too small for a sword and yet bulky with something.

“Things?”

The man rummaging through the bag, colourful boxes in sight for short moments.

“Cocoa, a card game, sweets, things she likes. I always got her things.”

Found it hard to imagine how Armstrong sipped cocoa from a carton, yet he though that maybe it would do her a world of good. Was looking at her through the glass, seemingly getting ready to come outside, when Herman waved at her to stay put.

The man making his way over to the door, taking a deep breath when out of sight of Armstrong, letting on how hard all of this was for him. Seeing her hurt like this.

A question sprung to his mind.

“Is it true that you nicknamed her Kiddo?”

Herman looked alarmed.

“Shh! Not where she can hear you!”

And with a half-smile the man then slipped into the room, engulfing the woman inside in a tight hug.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time he woke up, but it was the first time his mind wasn’t engulfed in a thick fog.

“Hey sleepyhead, welcome back.”

Felt her hand palming his face and reached up to grab it. Only missed once, before managing to, proud of himself. She was pleasantly warm, something he craved. Opened his eyes with little trouble this time, her face not far from his. Their eyes locking.

“How long was I gone?”

Her thumb brushing his temple steadily was distracting, though it made him content, her smile too.

“Altogether or since the last time you woke up?”

His mind, though unfoggy, still a bit slow.

“The second?”

He tested his mobility, glad that he could move arms and legs a little, though they felt heavy. His torso hurt though, when he moved it around.

“Twenty-two hours. But the nurse said that’s good. Your bodies healing.”

The memories of being awake before slowly returned, the pocking and prodding. A nurse talking to him, that he needed rest. _Her_ face swimming in and out of his vision, but always close.

“And altogether?”

Her eyes not filling with worry at that, but a hint of sadness burrowing forth.

“Four days have gone by since the attack. You woke up a few times in between, but never for long.”

The words slipping from his tongue before he could think about it.

“Sorry that I worried you.”

Her other hand cupping the free side of his face then, a soft kissed pressed to his forehead.

“You’re hardly at fault Miles. I’m just glad that you’ll be alright again.”

She was so close to him, he could hardly concentrate on anything else. Was just glad that she was here, with him, that she seemed calm, if a bit worried. Wondered where all of her sadness, her anger, had gone.

Thought it best to ask, to reassure that everything was as alright as it could be.

“Maximoff, he was convicted, right? He did that.”

Miles forcing one of his hands to ghost over his chest, feeling the thick bandages.

The memories were foggy, maybe he should be happy about that he thought. A steeliness appearing in Olivier’s eyes at his question, not just worry.

“Yeah, he was. But he’s been murdered shortly after, in a locked room with no windows.”

He squeezed her hand, knew, and wanted her closer. She pressed another kiss to his forehead, but before she could lean up again, he used his one free hand to cup her face, halting her movement. Her hair hanging around them like a curtain, reducing the world to only them.

For a moment thought that this was how it should be, only her and him. Felt glad that her anger was gone, did not have the capacity to feel guilt or remorse. Instead was happy for her, for them, the freedom she’d awarded.

Decided to test his good luck.

“Liv, I’m a bit cold.”

She smiled at that, swung her legs onto the bed and without further ado settled in next to him. Miles thought with gratitude that they must’ve given him one of the big beds, not at all narrow like the cots at Briggs were.

Buried his face in her neck, basked in the warmth she seemed to emit, still feeling serenely calm despite his close brush with death. Maybe it helped when you were the one worried about for a change, not the one worrying? Or it was the knowledge that he could change nothing from his position in the bed.

“You smell good.”

Her snicker seemed to reverberate through her whole body, or at least it sounded like that to him, one of his ears pressed to her skin inadvertently.

“I showered. My family insisted.”

He rifled through his sparse memories and filed this under new information.

“They are here?”

“Came only hours after you were brought here.”

Something gnawing on him while they both were silent, the light dimmed anyways, the only brightness coming from the hallway. Spoke then, knowing that dancing around it would get him nowhere.

“Oh, so… they know?”

Liked to imagine that she pressed a kiss to his hair before she spoke.

“I’m barely leaving your room, they’re annoying, not dumb.”

Her deadpan kind of delivering this line making him chuckle, the pain seeming so much more distant that close to her.

“And what do they think?”

He did not ask _about us_ , or _about everything_ , or about the fact that their daughter had seemingly chosen a penniless man of mixed heritage. And at the same time, he asked all of that. Olivier seemingly taking it all with humour.

“That you’re pretty charming, for someone that’s sleeping in an emergency ward.”

Wanted her to take it seriously, wanted to convey that this was important to him.

“Liv!”

“That you must be a very special person to me.”

Her answer so quick, so sure, that he could say nothing for a good long while.

Instead he kissed a kiss to her throat, the one place he could reach well, while she held him tight. Revelled in the warmth, their quiet breathing, not even the buzz of the machines annoying. His hand finding hers again, fingers interlacing, Miles wanting it to last forever in his mind still so narrow from all the medication that he was sure to be running through him.

And only after a long while he spoke, his eyelids growing increasingly heavy.

“Liv, I think I’m going under again.”

A kiss pressed to his head, his body growing heavier. Her answer easy, calm, almost soft.

“That’s alright, I’ll be there when you wake up again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

He let himself sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of said vacation btw, I won't be able to answer any comments until after the easter holidays! I'm sorry, but know that I'll get to it when I'm back :D


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the last chapter, which finishes that story :D  
> It was really fun to write, because I always love to pick up all the lose ends and tie some knots^^ Also, this one is posted a week "early", because I too late noticed that posting times correlated with my plans for the holidays^^ As such, this fic is done a week earlier, though I hope you don't mind (no content was cut, so^^)  
> I really hope you like it and appreciate all kinds of feedback :D

“Okay, seems to fit you well.”

Olivier did not know how Miles could keep it together, when the man was so visibly uncomfortable. The face alone was enough to crack her up, all scrunched up and gloomy.

“Why can’t I just go in my Kameez? I have one for such festivities. Purple.”

Marvelled at Miles patience too, because the Peacekeeper had looked at her menacingly for the fourteenth time now, because she’d failed to stifle her laughter.

“Yes, but the invitation read “suit and tie”, not “formal wear”. Such things make a difference to amestrian’s.”

The man formerly known as Scar growled lowly, looking good in his suit, yet completely out of his comfort zone. Was looking at her now, speaking in a tone she associated with humour, though at the same time not sure if the man had some.

“Why are you amestrian’s always so difficult?!”

Olivier swallowed another giggle together with a sip of her tea and refrained from biting back her retort.

“Why do you Ishvalans always insist on wearing pants in which your balls can hang around freely?”

The Peacekeeper took a deep breath, while it was now Miles turn to stifle a laugh.

“Your wife is pretty insolent at times.”

Miles just raised his eyebrows.

“Please, you should know that my wife is pretty insolent all of the time. And I’d say the suit fits, you’ll be well-dressed for the occasion. Give it a year, or two, and the diplomacy-meetings will allow for formal wear. Then you can wear the Kameez again. Together with lofty pants.”

Not a few moments later Miles had complimented the Peacekeeper out of the door, stepping up to Olivier.

“Was that necessary?”

She smirked, putting the, now empty, cup on the counter she leaned against.

“Just for the record Miles, he readjusted more than a dozen times!”

“So, you count now?”

Miles trapping her with his body, sneaking his arms around her.

“Please, I wasn’t the one sitting at the man’s crotch-level for half an hour.”

He laughed at that, joined by her.

Their vacation together had just started, she’d come down to Ishval and would only be needed again in Central in three weeks. And should anything urgent happen, she could use the freshly-built landline to respond quickly. And Miles too had been able to be free of his duties for this time, had talked the Peacekeeper into taking over a diplomatic mission for him months prior.

“He hates the suit with a passion, doesn’t he?”

Miles chuckled.

“He does. But I think he looks better in it than in his Kameez for festivities.”

“Why?”

One brow risen in question, a half-smile already playing along her lips.

“Because it’s purple, with a yellow flower-print. It looks more like a wrap-dress, really.”

Olivier laughed, leaning against him.

“Please tell me you have a picture of that?”

Miles speaking with assurance in his voice, while separating his body from hers.

“Not yet, but I will!”

Things had changed over the course of the last year.

Their initial plan had been to become a part of the new government body, to leave their positions in the military. And yet, while they’d both managed the latter, the former was still a pending affair. Not for lack of trust in them they found, but because as soon as the new government had been elected, the new Fuhrer opened an investigation into the war-crimes committed during the Ishvalan civil-war.

With that, all their positions temporary, hinging on the outcome.

Miles had left the military first, retired for medical reasons, as the doctors at the hospital, and all others he’d met afterwards, had not declared him fit for duty. His heart had taken damage, would become better again over time, but never strong enough to send him into combat. Grumman had reacted quickly, making him a private contractor to the military, as with his absence the rebuilding efforts in Ishval could’ve gotten problematic.

He simply was the most knowledgeable person about the funding and the laws, with the willingness to do everything for the project to boot.

And Olivier had retired just a few months ago, not long after sworn in as the head of diplomatic relations under the new government. Had her hands full for a good few months, staying in Central most of the time and getting peace agreements underway. Though when the trial had gained momentum, excluded from it because of familial relations, she’d filed for vacation.

Was sure of the outcome anyway, not only spending her time with _him_ when in Ishval.

And most of all, in a quiet ceremony about half a year ago, Miles retirement finalized, they’d married. For Ishvalan standards it had been a small festivity, or at least had been planned as such, but as so many had wanted to celebrate with them, things had grown out of proportion.

From their honeymoon-spot in Miles little house, they’d learned that the celebration had lasted three days, two of which without them.

They moved out towards their hammock, the sun setting in the west, turning the sand into an orange ocean, almost gleaming.

“You’re not worried for your brother?”

His question honest, though one he’d asked before.

“ _No more blood will be shed in Ishvalas name_. I think that’s a pretty clear statement.”

The Peacekeeper and the cleric, but also every Ishvalan that wanted to say something about the things that had happened during the civil-war, had been heard. The Ishvalan people had come together in their communities, still small, still makeshift, but important. Had talked and then taken a vote, unheard off before, but to be followed by their representatives.

There would be punishment, harsh in many cases, but no life would be lost, no blood would be spilled. They would break the circle of hatred.

Miles shivered still, when thinking about the night the Peacekeeper had eaten with Olivier and him, talking about how living on with the knowledge of being a monster, was the greatest punishment he could think of.

Olivier’s hand on his back pulling him out of his thoughts, making him smile.

“You were scratching your scar again!”

Her eyes slitted, her mouth set into a thin line. Before he could answer, she pulled his shirt over his head.

He laughed.

“And that will achieve what?”

She shrugged, gesturing for him to lay down on the hammock first, even though he knew that she just wanted to keep him from seeing her troubles with the thing.

“You’ll see. And like you _ever_ complained when I undressed you!”

Laughed yet again, feeling true mirth, peace. All troubles were far away here, good things ahead. Olivier lying down next to him once he had settled, her top letting skin touch, sticking together in the heat almost instantly.

A hand sneaking up, settling over the scar on his chest, pale and risen and ugly to him. Olivier insisted that it looked like a star whenever he looked at it with disdain in the bedroom-mirror. But he had to give it to her, her way of keeping him from scratching at the tender tissue was effective.

The sound of the distant market still reaching them when a breeze blew in their direction, Olivier greedily lifting her short-clad legs up to catch some of the cool air. His mind still full though, needing her opinion, the Peacekeepers visit still on his mind.

“What do you think Mustang will do, when the judgement will be passed?

“He’ll weep when they declare him to a sentence of living with what he’s done. And then he’ll understand that he was given another chance.”

A parallel pushing itself into his mind, like those often did. Knew that she’d grimace but spoke anyways.

“Like Payen gave you?”

Olivier lifting her face up, her nose inches from him, speaking softly.

“Like Mustang did when searing your wound shut?”

His arms coming up around her, encircling her body and holding her close.

“Life has its way, doesn’t it?”

Did not need to talk about how things seemed to balance out or get back to you. Did not feel like discussing guilt and luck and blame and debt with her. How good deeds and bad deeds went hand in hand and that truly fair judgement was rare.

Instead focused on more happy things, when speaking again.

“So, your parents are insisting on the second ceremony? I was under the impression that they liked the one here pretty well.”

Olivier sighed, kissing him on the nose.

“Oh Miles, you still have so much to learn. They want to show off, that’s what they do. And they wanna do it as long as you’re as handsome as you are, and my waist is still tiny.”

He gulped, audibly, what had her chuckling.

“How many guests are we talking about?”

She rolled off of him, though the cloth pressed them together still.

“Maybe one or two…”

“Hundred?!”

She smirked.

“Oh, my sweet boy, you’ve really got a lot to learn still.”

Kissed him, something that proved to be a pretty good distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of said vacation btw, I won't be able to answer any comments until after the easter holidays! I'm sorry, but know that I'll get to it when I'm back :D

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. The goal of it is to make commenting easier for readers and to increase the feedback writers get. As such, I invite you to leave:
> 
> _Short comments_   
>  _Long comments_   
>  _Questions_   
>  _Constructive criticism_   
>  _Reader-reader interaction_   
>  _extra-kudos as <3_
> 
> I cherish all comments, weather they be long or short, even only one word makes me squeal with happiness after all. And if you’re seeing this fic ten years after I published it, don’t worry: Old or new, I’ll still love what you left me to read <3 I answer to all comment btw, though it sometimes takes me a day or two. Should you not want me to answer, just write _whisper_ in front of it.  
>  I thank you for reading this fic of mine through to the end. As I said, I appreciate all comments and kudos and should you want to get into direct contact with me [this is my tumblr](http://illidria.tumblr.com/). There you can get into discussions with me, or even send in wish-fics.  
> Happy reading and thank you <3


End file.
